


Ingemisco, tamquam reus

by SaltyStrawberry



Category: Gintama
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 06:56:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12953784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltyStrawberry/pseuds/SaltyStrawberry
Summary: Others might find happiness after the battle. Matako cannot.





	Ingemisco, tamquam reus

  
The truth went unspoken - it should have been her.

It was her who should have died that day. The death was meant for her, under heavy metal pieces exploding and burying everyone on the ship. So why was she here, crumbling into herself in anguish and guilt?

Matako was crouching in the corner of Bansai's cabin. Since the battle had ended, she spent hours in his room hoping in vain, in desperation, that the owner would come to chase her out, like he had done countless times before. Several times a day, Henpeita would drag her out and make her eat, but whatever she swallowed, it soon went the wrong way out. Sleep came with nightmares, so she rather stayed awake until fatigue drowned her in darkness of dreamless rest. Here, in the room where he had once lived, it seemed as if he was still alive. Perhaps on some mission, perhaps with Shinsuke-sama, perhaps thinking of her on his way back. The shamisen was missing, but the CDs were here. His music sheet was still all over the table waiting to be sorted out. Two spare headphones were resting lonely on the night-drawer by his bed. His old shades in the drawer. She could imagine it; any moment now, he would come and free her from this strangling grasp of guilt.

It should have been her.

How many times had she repeated it? It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. She felt like she was in cold sea, unable to swim and unable to drown. Panic and resignation competed for her mind, but guilt was the one that took it. There was no headstrong girl with naïve mind and loud voice, there was no more the famous assassin with quick hands and sharp tongue. Only a broken person, crouched in the corner of a room, with no words to utter her grief. Helpless and ashamed. Wretched and so, so lonely.

Shinsuke never came back to the ship. After they buried the body, the commander of Kiheitai left without a word. Matako couldn't bear to look at him – she was convinced that, if she met his gaze, there would be nothing to see but disappointment, accusation and hatred. Surely, he must have known it too – Bansai's death was owed to her. So, she stared hard into the ground, into the grave stone and into the letters engraved in it, claiming the name and the body of her closest comrade. Shinsuke wouldn’t be coming back here. Where Matako found comfort in the illusion the Bansai’s things offered, Shinsuke only saw offence of his memories.

She had thought about going after her commander, at least attempt comforting him. But how could she? At best her presence would be impudent, at the worst it would erase every piece of comradeship left between them. Matako couldn’t handle another forceful parting. She couldn’t face him. And he didn’t seem keen on facing her either.

A week after the funeral Matako came to realization Shinsuke wouldn’t be returning, not now, not ever. She had lost both of them. All she was left with was an old tactician and a ship to handle. A ship Bansai had chosen. A tactician Shinsuke had chosen. It was like since the beginning both were preparing a place for her after they would be gone. Like all their ambition and grand plans were simply a farce to protect her dreams. Why couldn’t she do the same? Once again she was behind them, watching their backs from the distance, knowing that this time there was no reaching them.

Bansai once told her she was the Kiheitai. That, even if everything else disappeared, as long as she drew breath, the Kiheitai would live on. She was the heart of Kiheitai.  
But what heart can live without a body? What heart could beat without a soul? What good was the tactician’s mind when she had no will to go on?

The truth went unspoken – the Kiheitai was no more. And if it hadn’t been for her faltering steps, it might still have been standing as proud as ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Ingemisco, tamquam reus:  
> Culpa rubet vultus meus:  
> Supplicanti parce, Deus.


End file.
